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Lief the Red
I woke up and the world had turned grey. Grey walls, grey objects, even grey air. Except for one thing, and that was full of colour. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a Valkyrie. Or rather, that she was a Valkyrie. She had long red hair that glinted like blood on copper and spilled over brass armour from beneath a wingéd helmet. She was leaning over me, feeling my neck for a pulse.
I’d heard of people feeling like they’d died and gone to heaven. I’d never yet heard them say anything about dying and being carried off to Valhalla.
When the Valkyrie saw my eyes were open and looking up at her, she frowned. But it was when she reached for her sword that I got a little concerned. I grabbed her hand. It may have been a bit ungentlemanly, but I like life as much as the next man.
Then she did something even more unexpected. She started laughing. She started laughing so hard she couldn’t help herself. In a laugh that sang like an opera. ‘It was a trick? The whole time, it was a trick?’ She had a deep, rich voice, with just a hint of smoke, laced with an accent of the old North. ‘Nay, peace, Chosen,’ she said, gently lifting my hand off her wrist. It wasn’t as if I could have done much in my condition as it was. ‘Well, here you are,’ she said, shifting from squatting on her haunches to rest one knee on the ground, ‘but what now?’
‘Didn’t think that far ahead,’ I muttered.
She quirked a coppery eyebrow, and a smile. ‘I’ll bet. But thou art Chosen. I have set my mark on you as a sworn Chooser. But,’ she continued, ‘thou art not dead …’
‘Split the difference at “mostly”?’ I murmured. I felt it, anyway. My reflection in her armour was so pale, I looked like I’d been out all night drinking with a vampire – about which, by the way, don’t ask. I must have been hanging on to life by a thread. But, the thread was important.
The Valkyrie seemed to weigh this. ‘I guess that means you belong to me, then.’
‘Wait, what?’
‘Not dead, not quite alive. Caught between. I could leave you to wander. But that would seem … cruel? Besides, call it a point of honour – and, I’ll admit, curiosity. I don’t know how it was done, but this is the first time I’ve seen such a trick – or even heard of it for many a long year. Well done, Chosen.’ Her smile held a challenge. I accepted. What other choice did I have?
‘But chosen as what?’ I countered.
‘That is a question,’ she nodded, gravely.
‘But you’re not going to answer it?’
She shook her head and grinned. ‘Not yet.’
I tried to get up. I didn’t quite make it. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a Valkyrie blanch, but that had to have been close.
‘Careful,’ she said sternly, sighing as she helped me to my feet. She was very nearly my height. Or perhaps I was swaying and it was hard to tell. She was slighter than I’d first thought, but strong.
‘Is this the part where you throw me over your horse’s saddle, and it’s mead and feasting all the day long?’ I asked, trying not to fall over. The grey world was fading. ‘Shouldn’t we be properly introduced first, at least?’
‘With that wound? You’ve got to be kidding. There’s only one place you’re going, mister, and that’s hospital.’
‘You’re sending me back? I thought you said—’
‘No, I’m not sending you back. At least, not as you would understand it. You have been touched by fate. You bear a Chooser’s mark. If you go back anywhere, you will not be the same. You will tread different paths, through places that will not be the same. That you might not previously have even been aware of.’ She set a hand on my shoulder. Even the remains of the greyness faded, to be replaced by a room in living colour – albeit washed out. Her armour faded too. She was wearing a medical uniform, her hair tied back severely. I found her reaching under my arm as I staggered.
‘Emergency here,’ her voice rang out, sending people running towards her. ‘This man needs help. Get that trolley over here!’ ….
I remember fading in and out of consciousness. She kept pace beside me. I wasn’t sure if any of them could see her at that point.
Blackness came.
When I woke again, she was standing by my bedside, writing on something in her hand. It glimmered as she folded it and slipped it into mine. ‘My number, Chosen. Call me sometime. If ever you want an adventure.’
I was still a bit out of it. ‘You … saved me … ?’
‘I Chose you,’ she corrected. ‘… And, maybe I helped a bit,’ she admitted shyly. ‘But remember,’ – she tapped my neck, and I felt a glow pass across my sight, bright gold mixed with a dash of rich ruddy copper and ruby – ‘you belong to me …’ she sang, as she turned and stepped, fading, off into the light from somewhere else bright and cold, a fresh chill wind whispering for a moment across my neck. A few white somethings whirled on it, and landed on the bedclothes. Snowflakes. Actual thick white snowflakes.
Oh, great, I thought. A Valkyrie with a sense of humour. But … I brought what she’d been writing on up towards my eyes. Lifting my arm to do it felt like running a marathon. I opened it with clumsy fingers, and read and re-read what was written there. Committing it to memory. And then I did it again.
After the third time of memorising it, just for luck, I held it tightly in my hand, and let my arm fall slowly back down, and just lay there, smiling.
It had worked … It had really worked.
Question was, what now?
I saw the runic mark before my eyes as my eyelids became too heavy to lift, and I wended my way into sleep. I decided I could wait to answer that another day.
Published in Entertainment
The ones who are all business aren’t any fun at all, though.
Do you think it likely you’ll encounter any of those here?
‘My number, Chosen. Call me sometime. If ever you want an adventure.’
Damnity damn, I like the dames in Andrew’s stories!
Great stuff, Andrew! More, please.
I take it she wasn’t going through your pockets for loose change.
Her idea of an adventure may be somewhat old-fashioned (as the very best adventures are), I’ll just add.
And also, all my characters have a strict Morality Clause in their contracts.*
*: Sanity Clauses, don’t ask.
Thank you very much, and thank you for reading. I don’t know what’ll be next — this one just sort of showed up, and I figured it helps keep me writing it if put them out somewhere.
Always be careful when dealing with laughing eyes and an odd sense of humour. If these happen to belong to a Valkyrie with hair that colour — well, I warned you!
Redheaded Valkyries can be tricksy, though sometimes they spell it “Trixie.”
*Sound of custard pie whistling through the air at speed, as if thrown from a flying horse.*
*Shakes head.* I warned him . . .
At least she’s not named ‘Tiffany.’
Thanks for the story, Andrew. Keep doing it.
Oh, and by the way:
I couldn’t write like that if the fate of the entire planet depended on it.
Thank you for reading. I always appreciate the thoughts and encouragement.
To be fair, we were being chased by outraged Vogons at the time. What happened to Earth really wasn’t our fault.
I first read that as “outraged Vegans.”
A belated little sketch by way of illustration:
Also, for those who wish for further adventures:
The Eye of the Dragon.
I notice that in your corner of the universe there aren’t many helpless damsels in distress. Or maybe it’s just that they prefer not to get rescued by the likes of me.
Especially now that you mention it, this shortage has been noticed with sadness and regret.
What with the tax-goblins, marauding dragons (which you would think would provide a few rescue opportunities), assorted monsters, fell enchantments, and magic spells floating carelessly about the place, it’s apparently increasingly difficult to find good help in that area.
That, and there’s hero remuneration. It’s just very difficult to make a living being a hero these days. So the only people who wind up doing it, whilst doubtless handsome in their way, as well as gentle, thoughtful, kind to animals, and so on (and otherwise thoroughly good eggs), tend to be those who don’t know what to do other than honest heroing.
It’s a serious problem. We shall give it our most earnest consideration.
We remain, respectfully yours,
. . .
Which are the ones who have endless tankards of mead? Or tankards of endless mead, if you prefer.
One might think it’s not the ones who are all business but in the longhalls of Valhalla drinking is serious business.